


Canard

by fnowae



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Fake Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, this is a wild one folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 20:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fnowae/pseuds/fnowae
Summary: "Wait. So...Joe woke up with no memory of you and immediately thought you were his boyfriend?"Patrick purses his lips, forcefully holding back an unwarranted angry response. "Yes.""And your response to that," Pete continues, "even though you are definitelynot, was to tell him youare?"---Or: the bastard child of memory loss fics and fake dating AUs that no one wanted except for me.





	Canard

**Author's Note:**

> What kind of trope baby is this shit
> 
> Well
> 
> ENJOY, FUCKERS

If Patrick is being honest, Joe has always been one clumsy son of a bitch. 

And not in the sort-of endearing, falling up the stairs, accumulating harmless mystery bruises left and right way. More in the _holy shit, he's just plummeted off the fucking stage during a show and is now bleeding from a head wound and they have to rush him to the hospital what the fuck has he done now_ way. 

The entire band couldn't get in the back of the ambulance, so Patrick had rushed to be the one let on. Joe is passed out cold, and Patrick can't stop himself from taking Joe's hand in his, rubbing circles into the palm like it's going to wake him up, like it's going to take the huge, profusely bleeding wound off his forehead. The gash has been bandaged, but the blood is leaking through the gauze as an ever-persistent reminder that it's there. 

Patrick holds Joe's hand the entire drive. One of the medics in the ambulance gives him a reassuring look and says sweetly, "He'll be fine, honey, don't worry." Patrick doesn't have the heart to tell her that no, they're really not together - because he knows by the look on her face that's what she's thinking. He just nods distantly and tightens his grip on Joe's hand. 

The rest of the drive is silent and dull. Patrick's hand remains on Joe's, still hoping futilely that it will fix this. It doesn't. 

He has to be peeled off of Joe when they arrive, and he watches hopelessly as they take him inside, leaving Patrick to sit dejectedly in the desolate hospital waiting room, which isn't even trying to seem cheery like so many hospital waiting rooms do. It's as clinical and depressing as the interior of the hospital itself. Patrick would appreciate at least a _little_ effort. Maybe a couple tacky paintings of sunshine and flowers on the walls. It'd be something, at least. 

Pete and Andy show up fifteen minutes later, and it hurts when Patrick has to tell them that he doesn't know how Joe is doing. No one has come to tell him yet. 

Finally, after what feels like another half hour, even though according to the clock it was actually a full hour, a nurse comes out and makes a beeline for Patrick. "Are you here for Joe Trohman?"

"Uh, yeah, we all are," Patrick answers, gesturing towards Pete and Andy. He isn't sure why the nurse had singled him out alone. 

"Well, he's stable," the nurse informs them, and Patrick sinks into his uncomfortable waiting room chair, relieved, at least until the nurse continues, "But he's still unconscious. He hit his head pretty hard, so there's a chance he's sustained some minor brain damage, but we have no way of really knowing until he wakes up. You can visit him now, if you'd like, but we can only let one of you back at a time."

Patrick looks to Pete and Andy, a question evident in his gaze alone. Pete and Andy both nod, and Andy says, "Go ahead, Patrick."

Patrick nods back, thankful. He reminds himself to tell them how grateful he is later, but for now he turns to the nurse and tells her, "I'll go."

The nurse nods, offering him a considerate smile and waving a hand to indicate that he should follow her. He obliges, standing up and casting one last gratitude-packed look to his friends before trailing the nurse into the hospital's main halls. 

They reach the room quickly, and the nurse opens the door, before softly warning, "I can't promise he'll wake up anytime soon, and I can't promise he'll be alright when he does."

"I understand," Patrick says, even though his heart is about to beat out of his chest and as much as he does understand, he really doesn't want to. 

The nurse nods and waves him in. 

Joe looks frail lying in the room's lone bed, with an abundance of monitors hooked up to him. The bandage is still on his head, a clean one now, and though he's breathing steadily, indicating that he's blessedly alive, he's obviously still out cold. He's not hurt at all but for the head wound, thankfully enough, but the head wound on its own still scares Patrick more than he'd like to admit. 

There's a stiff plastic chair next to Joe's bed, and Patrick sits down in it immediately. He sits still for just a moment, apprehensive, and then relaxes and reaches out to take one of Joe's hands in his own, exactly how he had on the ambulance. He wishes in vain for Joe to simply wake up at his touch, like this is a low budget romantic flick, but of course he doesn't. Joe remains as comatose as he had prior. 

"God fucking damnit, Joe," Patrick hisses out, squeezing Joe's hand tighter. "You really fucked this one up, didn't you?"

He sits still for a moment before amending, "No, I'm sorry, it really wasn't your fault." He pauses to laugh bitterly. "I'm acting like you're listening. Fucking hell, you idiot, wake up."

Joe doesn't respond to this either. Of course he doesn't. This isn't a movie, this is real life - whether Patrick likes it or not. And he just has to live with that. 

He sits there, his hand in Joe's, until he falls asleep in the uncomfortable chair. Even as he sleeps, his hand remains where it is, in the hopes that somehow, it has to power to wake Joe up. 

Patrick wakes up with a pain in his back from his vexatious position in the chair, and groans as he sits up. His hand has remained gripping Joe's throughout the night. He doesn't move it now. 

He leans forward towards Joe, still looking weak in the shabby hospital bed. He reaches his free hand out to run it through Joe's curls, as if this may be the useless, infinitesimal action to finally wake Joe up. And-

And it is. 

Joe's eyes flutter open, crystal blue irises revealed to the world again. The first thing he looks to is Patrick. 

Patrick's heart stops in his chest, his hand freezes in Joe's hair. He's up - he's up! 

Patrick is about to let himself be consoled by Joe's gain of consciousness, but then the nurse's words ring clear in his ears again. _There's a chance he's sustained some minor brain damage, but we have no way of really knowing until he wakes up._ Oh god, what could that even mean? Is Joe okay? What if something happened to him? What if-

"Uh, hi?" Joe says, his voice a bit rough around the edges, but otherwise, simply...addled. 

Patrick tells himself this isn't proof something is wrong yet, that Joe could still be okay. But a gut feeling is telling him otherwise. 

"You're up," he says, unable to stop himself from sounding awed. He's so glad Joe had come back to consciousness so quickly, but - but what if there's a catch?

"Yes...?" Joe responds slowly, dragging the one syllable out as far as it will go. He looks around briefly, before his eyes flick back to Patrick. "Uh, dude, you're...you're pulling my hair."

Patrick startles, tugging his hand out of Joe's hair at the realization that it had still been in there, and that he'd started tightening his grip out of uneasiness. "Right, right, sorry."

Joe narrows his eyes, and speaks slowly, like he's being cautious, "Okay, right, I don't mean to alarm you, but...uh, I don't think I know who you are?"

Patrick's heart drops to his feet. No, no, further than that - Patrick's heart has just leapt off the top of the fucking Empire State Building and crashed onto the streets below. Then it has proceeded to climb through a wood chipper and be eaten alive by a bear. The nurse's words are back, ringing in his ears like a torture device - _minor brain damage_. Joe doesn't - he can't-

"Oh," Patrick says simply, leaving his rushing thoughts to himself. 

"I'm sorry, man, I-" Joe's face is contorted into an expression of pity, and his mouth is moving to find words without any actually coming out. "Am I supposed to know you?"

Patrick nods shortly, not opening his mouth for fear of what words would come out next if he did. He just sits, waiting for Joe to say something first. He involuntarily starts rubbing his thumb across the back of Joe's hand, still held tightly in his own. It's meant to be a calming gesture, and he doesn't even realize he's doing it. Joe's eyes flick down to their intertwined hands, then back to Patrick, then his mouth curves into a slight frown as he says the one thing that has the capability to make this horrible situation worse. 

"Oh, shit, are you - are you my boyfriend?"

Patrick nearly chokes on his own breath. No. No he is _not_. He and Joe are strictly friends and any thoughts or hopes for them to be otherwise had been discarded years ago. No, they are not-

"Y - yeah."

Patrick makes a mental note to kill his own mouth, because it is exhibiting a terrible tendency to operate separately from the logical part of his brain. They aren't together. They aren't! But he's just told Joe that they are, and the poor guy doesn't know any better right now. 

"Ah, fuck," Joe says in response, grimacing. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, fuck, this isn't your fault," Patrick rushes out, rather than saying what he should be saying, which is "no, we aren't together, I'm not your boyfriend, I'm just your bandmate, I don't know why I even told you otherwise." He squeezes Joe's hand once, quickly, in a vague attempt at a reassuring gesture as his mind goes off the rails. It doesn't help that Joe squeezes back. 

"Oh. Okay." Joe nods once, turning away to rest his head back against his pillow again. 

Patrick decides that now is his last chance to fix this, to explain who he really is, and that like it or not, he really has to do it. But before he can, the nurse bustles in. And the second she sees Joe is awake, she rushes to him and asks Patrick to leave for a moment so she can "assess the damage". Patrick does so blankly, with no real choice to do otherwise. 

Before he can exit the room, Joe calls after him, "Wait!"

Patrick turns back, some tiny part of him hoping Joe is going to say his memory had suddenly returned, or he was just joking, or-

"What's your name?"

Patrick's already mangled heart shatters into a million tiny pieces as he answers, "Patrick."

He leaves before Joe can unwittingly make this worse again, wandering back out to the waiting room and throwing himself into one of the chairs next to where Pete and Andy are still sitting. His friends cast him concerned looks, but he tries to ignore them. 

But he can't ignore it when Andy asks, "Is he okay?"

Patrick winces. Well, fuck. "Uh...well, the good news is, he's awake."

"That's fucking great news!" Pete exclaims, perking up immediately. Then his smile falls again when he sees Patrick's pained expression. "Oh god, what's wrong?"

"Well..." Patrick tries to focus on how Joe's doing and not on his own mistake, because Pete is asking about the former, not the latter. "He...I think he's lost some memory."

"Holy shit, really?" Pete blurts out, jaw dropping and worry marring his face. 

Patrick winces again and answers quietly, "He didn't know who I was when he woke up. The nurse is with him now, figuring out exactly what's wrong."

"Oh, Patrick, I'm sorry," Andy says gently, offering a comforting look. 

Patrick is about to simply sigh and go straight to his current extremely important agenda of wallowing in self pity, 24/7/365, when Pete pipes up again. 

"Did you get to at least try and tell him anything before you had to leave?"

Patrick cringes, averting his eyes and trying to act like he hadn't heard. He isn't in the mood to explain what he's just done. 

"Patrick...what's wrong?" Pete asks worriedly. His tone indicates that he's not going to stop asking until Patrick relents. Therefore, Patrick knows it's better if he's just honest about it now. 

He looks back to Pete and Andy, who are both staring at him expectantly. "I...I messed up."

Neither of his friends say anything; they simply hold their gazes, as if silently telling him to go on. 

Patrick gives up on trying to withhold this. Lying is what got him into this situation in the first place, isn't it? "When Joe first woke up...I was right there, and he...he assumed I was his boyfriend."

Pete actually laughs, the asshole, and says, "Holy shit, really? That's hilarious!"

"No! No, it's not!" Patrick says hotly, unable to stop his face from tingeing with red. 

"What happened, Patrick?" Andy asks, much less brash and loud than Pete. For good measure, he throws Pete a disappointed glare. Pete quiets down immediately. 

"I...may have told him I am," Patrick finishes, turning his eyes away from his bandmates so he doesn't have to see their reactions. 

They're silent for a long moment that makes Patrick feel sick, and finally Pete speaks up. 

"Wait. So...Joe woke up with no memory of you and immediately thought you were his boyfriend?"

Patrick purses his lips, forcefully holding back an unwarranted angry response. "Yes."

"And your response to that," Pete continues, "even though you are definitely _not_ , was to tell him you _are_?"

"Yes..." Patrick replies quietly. 

Pete looks like he wants to laugh again, but to his credit, he doesn't. Instead, he says blankly, "Uh, wow. So...you're fucked."

" _Thank you_ , Pete, I had _no idea_ ," Patrick mutters haughtily, wrinkling his nose in annoyance. 

"Pete, leave it be," Andy scolds, and Pete remains blissfully silent. Patrick reminds himself to thank Andy later for being so damn good at keeping Pete in check. 

Patrick sinks further into the chair, hoping it will swallow him up forever so he won't have to deal with this anymore. 

It doesn't work. Instead, the nurse appears again, and says directly to Patrick, "You can come back, if you'd like. He's been asking for you."

"Okay," Patrick's mouth says. "I'm a fucking idiot," his brain says. 

He casts a helpless look towards Pete and Andy as the nurse leads him back again. His friends only watch with pity in their eyes as he's dragged to what's most likely his impending doom. 

The nurse relays the extent of the situation as she walks. Joe's suffering from some serious amnesia, and he doesn't remember much other than his own name. The doctor is certain he'll get the memories back at some point, but there's no knowing when. The nurse sounds very sure of herself as she says this last bit, like she's trying particularly hard to comfort Patrick. Patrick would be soothed if the idea of Joe's memory returning didn't carry with it the threat of Joe finding out how Patrick had made that stupid lie. 

"He says you told him you're his boyfriend?" the nurse asks, making everything about a million times worse. 

Patrick is saying yes before he can stop himself. He can't seem to stop digging himself deeper and deeper into this mess, and it's fucking painful. 

The nurse only gives him a sympathetic look and promises, "It'll be okay."

No, Patrick thinks, it absolutely won't. 

Joe is sitting up in bed this time, looking a lot stronger already. He beams when Patrick comes in. "Hi."

Patrick nods courteously, reclaiming his agonizing plastic chair by Joe's bed. "Hey."

Joe regards him thoughtfully, mouth curved up in a sort of half-smile. He doesn't say anything, just stares. 

"What?" Patrick queries, brow furrowing. He can tell Joe's thinking about something. 

Joe's half-smile turns to a full one as he nods ambiguously to Patrick. "I just think I really lucked out."

"Oh," Patrick says, helpless to prevent a weak blush from spreading across his face. No other words will come out. He could try to tell the truth now, but - why? He's in too deep. At this point, the truth is only going to hurt Joe. A tiny voice in his head reminds him that it's going to hurt Joe more in the long run if he keeps this up. He silences it. 

Joe has a lot of questions, and Patrick has a lot of answers. Inquiry after inquiry, Patrick finds himself trapped in the most aggravating catechism ever. 

"So...how did we meet?"

"Kind of just ran into each other. And, uh...we're in a band now."

"Are there other people in the band?"

"Two. Pete and Andy. They're in the waiting room. Do you want to see them?"

"Later? I...I don't know. One at a time."

"That's cool. Okay."

"Is it...is it a good band?"

Patrick can't withhold a laugh here. "Sure. I suppose so."

"Ha, I bet we're like, super famous rockstars with platinum albums who do world tours and fucking - fucking sold out arena shows."

Patrick has to stifle another laugh, because that statement had been totally sarcastic on Joe's part. 

Joe's jaw drops. "Oh my god, we _are_?"

"Putting it mildly...uh, yes."

The look of amazement on Joe's face is enough to get a genuine smile from Patrick - but it only lasts until Joe starts asking questions about their relationship. The one that doesn't actually exist. 

"So, uh...babe? Do I call you babe?" Joe begins. Patrick flinches. This is already off to a fucking awful start. 

"I don't like being called babe," Patrick answers truthfully, then goes straight back to lying. "You...you always called me honey, or sweetheart, because I like how it sounds like we're an old married couple."

Patrick is making this up off the top of his head, but it seems to do the trick. Joe looks amused, and asks, "Well, _are_ we married?"

Patrick shakes his head. That's an easy answer. "Not yet."

Joe nods. "Do we have kids, or anything?"

Another head shake. At least these are questions that are yes or no, and easy yes or no questions at that. 

"How long have we been together?"

This one isn't so simple. Patrick tries his best to give a solid answer on short notice, but it's hard. He settles for, "Uh, we dated on and off for a while, back when we were younger. We've been going steady for two years now."

This sounds realistic enough, and the "dated on and off" bit isn't _totally_ a lie, if occasional bored makeouts count as "dating on and off". 

Joe nods to this, so Patrick must be doing a good job of sounding believable. He looks up to Patrick and says bluntly, "They said I can go home tomorrow. Where's home? Do we live together?"

They do not. "Yeah."

Joe nods again. "So I'll go home tomorrow?"

Patrick makes a mental note to wallow in self pity _and_ the consequences of his bad decisions later. For now, he replies shortly, "Yeah."

Joe nods a final time. "I think I'm going to sleep now."

"You do that," Patrick says. 

He stays in the room for a good two hours even after Joe nods off, despite the fact that he reminds himself he doesn't need to keep the act up when Joe's not awake to see it. 

///

Pete and Andy weren't nearly as taken aback as Patrick thinks they should have been when he'd asked, "Can we discreetly move some of Joe's stuff to my place and make it look like he lives there?"

Patrick also thinks he did a very good job of not murdering Pete on the spot when he'd announced upon walking into Patrick's house, "Fucking hell, Patrick, you're going to need to deep clean this hellhole before it resembles a place Joe would even _consider_ living in."

It turns out three people and extravagant lie fueled determination are the perfect equation for house cleaning, because the place looks respectable - and respectably decorated with a few of Joe's belongings - within a couple hours. 

Patrick tours his house after, taking it in. It's much neater, and much more interspersed with Joe's things. A few of Joe's guitars are leaned against the wall near Patrick's own. Some of Joe's clothes have been hastily moved into the closet. Joe's posters and pictures are mingling on the wall with Patrick's. Patrick thinks he needs to thank whatever omnipotent power may exist that he'd still remembered where Joe's spare key was hidden. (Inside the root of the flowers out front - they're fake. It's an eccentric hiding place, but a good one. At least, a good one unless the person trying to break into your house is your close friend you don't remember, desperately trying to prove he's your boyfriend.)

Patrick sits down with Pete and Andy at his dining room table, and asks dead on, "Why are you helping me with this stupid, elaborate scheme?"

"You're an idiot, Patrick," Pete replies, and before Patrick can protest, he continues, "But you're our friend. This is definitely a stupid, elaborate scheme. But you got into it, and you have to let it play out."

Andy simply nods in agreement. 

Patrick shakes his head, stunned. "I don't know whether to love or hate you guys."

"Try both," Pete suggests, beaming. 

///

Joe spends the car ride "home" staring out the window like a little kid, taking in every little detail, because it's all new to him. He asks "is that our house?" after every other house they pass, and for some reason it never annoys Patrick when he has to constantly say, "No, not that one."

"Is that our house?" Joe asks for what must be the millionth time, and finally, he's right - well, sort of. 

"Yeah," Patrick answers, lying through his teeth, "it is."

He leads Joe up to the house, and Joe follows excitedly, looking up at the building in astonishment. 

"I love it," he says. "Did we get it together?"

"It was mine first. You moved in with me," Patrick answers, monotone, like he's reading a line off a script. And he kind of is. 

He's had plenty of time to invent the details of his and Joe's imaginary relationship, and he hopes he can remember them consistently. He knows with each answer, he digs himself deeper in, but he's already in too deep to stop now. He's sort of trapped. 

Once they're inside, Joe demands a full house tour. Patrick takes pride in pointing out the things that are Joe's, demonstrating his seemingly solid evidence of a shared household that never was. Joe eats it up without questioning a single thing - and how would he even know there's something to question?

"We share a bed, right?" he asks at one point, inspecting the bedroom. Patrick only has one, seeing as he lives alone - or at least, he'd supposed to. 

"Of course," Patrick answers, before considering that this means he'll have to share a bed with Joe tonight. He finds, surprisingly, that he doesn't really care. 

Joe seems tired out after the tour, taking a seat at the table and yawning. Patrick checks the clock. It's only six. 

"Man, moderate brain trauma is really draining," Joe comments, leaning his head on his hands and yawning again. "'m tired."

"We can go to bed now, if you want," Patrick suggests automatically, Joe's comfort quickly becoming first priority. 

Joe looks up, thankfulness reflected in his eyes. "You'd do that for me?"

Patrick chuckles. "Of course, babe. Of course."

The pet name is off his tongue before he can stop it, but Joe just grins in response. Patrick holds back a grimace. He's just being convincing, he reminds himself. It was a natural thing to say because he's so set on the role. 

"So, wait," Joe says. "You can call me babe, but I can't call you babe?"

"Well, do _you_ hate it?" Patrick challenges, finding himself slipping into that role all took easily. 

"No," Joe amends, laughing softly and smiling up at Patrick with sleepy eyes. "I think I really love it, actually."

True to his word, Patrick gets Joe to bed immediately. He forces down his inhibitions and climbs into bed with his friend, reminding himself that he's _playing the role_. He got himself into this mess, and it's his job to follow through. 

Right before Patrick is about to doze off, finding he's more tired than he'd expected, Joe murmurs softly, "I'm sorry I don't remember."

Patrick frowns, instinctually pulling Joe into his arms, unable to stop himself. "Don't worry," he promises. "It's okay."

///

"Honey - do I really call you _honey_? God, we _do_ sound like an old married couple. Uh, _honey_ \- why the fuck do we have the _worst_ cereal selection in the history of breakfast foods?"

Patrick snickers affectionately. "Because I'm the one who goes to the store."

"Then we're _both_ going to the store today," Joe announces. "Because if I see one more cereal box proudly advertising how many grains are in it like it thinks I fucking care, I think I might die."

Patrick agrees without hesitation, and they're in the car before they even have a chance to put on actual clothes. Joe points out that they're still in the t-shirts and sweatpants they'd slept in, and neither of them have even touched their hair - both of them have an impressive mess of bedhead - but Patrick just shrugs. 

"So? This is fun!" he says. And he's completely serious - it kind of is. 

They get weird looks wandering through the aisles of the grocery store in their shabby clothes, but they ignore them. As they're walking, Patrick finds that his hand slips naturally into Joe's. He doesn't try to stop it. Joe just looks to him and smiles. 

Patrick lets Joe pick everything, and they emerge with a cart full of crap Patrick won't even consider putting near his mouth, but Joe looks happy about it, so he's perfectly fine with it. _As long as it's making Joe happy_ , he tells himself. And isn't that the philosophy he's spontaneously started to live by?

They pile into the car with their haul and drive home, where Joe makes a show of putting every kind of cereal they'd bought into one bowl and mixing it up. It looks terrible, and it tastes terrible when Joe forces a spoonful into Patrick's mouth, but Joe is laughing as Patrick makes a face, so Patrick can only grin back. 

Joe asks what TV shows and movies they like to watch together. Patrick tells him they make a joke of rewatching the Matrix movies every once and a while, because Patrick hates them and Joe loves them and they both love getting into arguments over things they're passionate about. This isn't a lie, either. They _do_ do that - just, as friends. Not as boyfriends. 

Joe is happy to do this, and Patrick is happy to have the chance to explain to Joe why the movies are terrible when Joe now has no prior knowledge at them. He's satisfied when at the end, Joe makes a face and proclaims, "Fuck, you're right. Tell me I didn't really used to like that shit!"

"You did," Patrick informs him, and he laughs when Joe pulls a face. 

"God, I was the _worst_ ," Joe complains, leaning over to rest his head on Patrick's shoulder. Patrick can't do anything but let him. And, honestly? He doesn't want to do anything else, either. 

"Nah, you were always the best," he tells Joe, his hand automatically moving to card through Joe's hair like he had in the hospital. "You just have better taste now."

Joe chuckles. "Sure, hon. Sure."

Patrick can't help the lazy smile that crosses his face at the nickname. It wasn't even one he'd lied about and told Joe they used - Joe had just come up with it on his own. And Patrick totally doesn't hate it. 

He considers, briefly, that he's in way too deep. 

Then he considers that he really doesn't care anymore. 

///

The next few days are a blur - they go see a movie, they go out on date night in a McDonald's because Patrick joked about hating fancy dates and Joe had gone on a quest to successfully come up with the least fancy date possible, they go to the beach and buy fast-melting popsicles from a street vendor, they just walk down the street at night, hand in hand, and look at the stars. 

One night, they're watching 90s sitcom reruns cuddled up on the couch, and Patrick turns his head to kiss Joe. Joe kisses back. Patrick doesn't question this or feel bothered by it at all. It just happens, and it feels like it's supposed to. 

Patrick realizes with a start, lying in bed that night, that he's stopped playing the role of Joe's boyfriend and simply started _being_ Joe's boyfriend. 

The realization doesn't shock him as much as it probably should. He just holds Joe tighter in his arms. 

///

Some indeterminate day about a week later, Patrick wakes up to sunlight streaming through the window onto the bed, which isn't as warm as he thinks it should be. 

He rolls over, finding that the bed is empty, and Joe's body isn't where he's gotten so used to it being when he wakes up. He frowns, calling, "Hey, babe?"

There's no response. 

Patrick sits up, blinking his eyes blearily and turning to grab his glasses. Under the glasses on his nightstand, there's a paper. 

Patrick's stomach twists. He feels nauseous. 

He slips the glasses onto his face and reaches reluctantly for the paper, which he's now sure is a note. And a short one, at that. 

_I remembered._

_What the actual fuck, Patrick?_

_-Joe_

Patrick crumples the paper into a ball in his hand as tears prick at the corners of his eyes. 

///

He calls Pete and Andy, but they both tell him little other than "Joe's gone back home and he really doesn't want to talk to you". Patrick knows he's fucked up. Big time. 

He tries to knock some sense into himself and remind himself he knew this day was coming by making coffee and getting some food, but when he opens the cupboard, some of the snacks from the store run that first morning are still in there. Suddenly, Patrick isn't hungry. 

He spends the day finally getting to wallow in his fucking self pity, and he can't do much else, because no matter what, everything he sees reminds him of Joe. 

He can't go back to sleep, because his bedroom is the place where they'd slept together so many nights, Joe curled up into Patrick's arms. He can't sit down and watch a movie to drown his sorrows, because that couch is the place they'd kissed, where Joe had foolishly believed that Patrick was being honest. He can't go for a walk in a useless attempt to clear his head, because the block around his home is where they'd gone on a stargazing walk, hands gripped together, smiling up at the sky. 

Patrick is a fucking horrible person. 

In the end, he spends the day being a movie cliche and lying hopelessly on the floor with a tub of ice cream. It's chocolate, and he's just gonna pretend he doesn't know that it's Joe's favorite. 

He falls asleep there too, face pressed painfully into the rough carpet. 

///

Patrick wakes up to loud knocking on the door, and a voice he's still too tired to properly identify yelling, "Open the hell up, asshole!"

Patrick groans and sits up. His face stings from being pressed into the carpet for so long, and the pattern of it is pressed into his skin. His entire body is cramped from sleeping on the cold, hard floor, and he pretends the sensation doesn't remind him of the plastic chair from hell in Joe's hospital room. 

He gets up as the knocking persists, picking up his ice cream as he goes. Half of the tub had been left, and it had melted while he was asleep. He simply throws it out, not bothering to take out the metal spoon that's drowning in the liquified dessert before he does. He can't bring himself to care. 

Finally, he goes to open his door, not sure what to expect. But when he does-

"You still have my shit."

Joe. 

"Oh," Patrick says weakly. Joe looks pissed, and Patrick is aware he looks like complete shit right now - but he totally fucking deserves this. He is an _asshole_ , and this is him getting his penance for it. 

Joe pushes past him without another word, avoiding eye contact as he moves around the house, ripping down posters and pictures and gathering his various belongings into his arms. Patrick can only watch, paralyzed, as Joe takes load after load out to his waiting car. He doesn't even remember bringing this much of Joe's stuff over here in the first place. But here it all is, the things he hadn't even noticed until suddenly, they're being removed. 

When Joe finally returns for the last of it, a single remaining guitar, Patrick opens his mouth, trying to think of something to say to make amends, no matter how impossible that notion seems now. 

Joe notices his open mouth before he can say anything at all and hisses out, "Can it."

Patrick does, watching dejectedly as Joe carries the last guitar out the door. 

"Joe," he begins, one final attempt to make things right, one final try at fixing this. He knows he was an asshole to force Joe into a relationship that never existed. He understands why Joe's pissed. He does. 

"What," Joe says coldly, freezing in his tracks, but not turning around to look Patrick in the face. 

"I'm-" Patrick begins. 

"Don't fucking tell me you're sorry," Joe mutters, tensing up, but still keeping his back to Patrick. "Do you know how much this hurts? Do you know how much it hurts to have someone you fucking _love_ finally act like they might actually feel the same, only to have to suddenly realize that it was _pity_ because of fucking _amnesia_ , of all things? Not cool, man. Not. Fucking. Cool."

Patrick's mouth opens and closes like a fish, trying to find words to reply to that with. But he can't. He wasn't expecting that. That's not what he was prepared to respond to.

Joe huffs, slams the door, and stalks off before Patrick can say anything more, leaving Patrick frozen in place, staring weakly at his closed front door like if he holds his gaze there long enough, Joe will come back. 

He doesn't. 

That's not what he'd thought the problem was. That's not it at all. 

///

It's been a week, and Joe's words don't make any more sense to Patrick, no matter how many times he runs them over and over in his head. It almost sounded like Joe had confessed his love or some shit, but that can't be right. It can't be. 

Patrick has spent the past week wallowing in self pity some more, full time now. He hasn't moved from the floor much, except to make shitty microwave meals and check the mail. He still doesn't understand. It doesn't make sense. 

Pete shows up after a week, and the second he spots Patrick curled up on the ground, he dashes over. 

"Jesus, Patrick, are you okay?" he asks, kneeling down at Patrick's side. 

"I'm fucking wonderful, thanks for asking," Patrick mutters bitterly, simply curling up tighter, which only succeeds in making it obvious how totally not okay he really is. 

"What's wrong?" Pete asks, as if he doesn't already know. 

Patrick groans and answers anyway. "Joe's not talking to me, which is fair because I'm a fucking asshole, but I thought he was mad because I shouldn't have said we were dating when he obviously didn't have feelings for me but I think he might have said it was because he _did_ have feelings for me-"

"Patrick, slow down," Pete says, reaching out with one hand and cautiously pulling Patrick up, so he's sitting up instead of lying down. Then he reaches out with his other hand and forces Patrick to look him in the eyes, before asking, "He said what?"

Patrick blinks, frowning. "He said he was mad because he loved me and I shouldn't have acted like I did when I didn't."

"Well, do you?"

Patrick looks Pete in the eye and finds that he definitely isn't lying when he replies with certainty, "Yes."

Pete raises his eyebrows. "Then why don't you tell _him_ that?"

Patrick realizes that this has gotten _really_ bad if _Pete_ is starting to sound like the reasonable one. 

///

Joe only lives a ten minute drive away from Patrick - five if Patrick pushes the speed limit enough, which he absolutely does. 

He pulls up in front of Joe's house and marches up to the front door with a purpose, ignoring the fact that he's clad in the same shirt and sweatpants he's been wearing for a week straight. He hasn't showered or touched his hair or even gone near a stick of deodorant in that time, either. Patrick knows he looks fucking terrible, and at this point, he really doesn't care. 

He knocks on Joe's door as loudly as he can. He checks his phone in a moment of panic and realizes it's only nine, and he's worried Joe won't be awake, but then he realizes that he's thinking about his sleep schedule, not Joe's, and Joe will most certainly already be up. 

Sure enough, Joe yanks open the door almost immediately. The second he sees it's Patrick, his eyes widen and he slams it right in Patrick's face. 

"That's fine! I'm not leaving!" Patrick informs him loudly, unsure how much his voice will carry through the door. 

Joe doesn't open the door again, but rather he yells back sourly, "The fuck do _you_ want?"

"I want to talk to you!" Patrick replies, ignoring the way Joe says "you" like it's poison in his mouth. He's about to give up on the possibility of Joe even considering hearing him out, but surprisingly, the door opens just a crack, and Joe's somber voice comes through the opening. "Fine. Talk."

Patrick clears his throat, realizing in a panic that he doesn't know what to say. Throwing out any second thoughts he might have, he decides to simply let himself say whatever comes out. 

"Okay, uh, first of all," he begins, "I know you're mad at me."

"No shit."

Patrick winces. Not off to a good start. He continues, "Okay, well, could you...could you tell me again _why_ you're mad at me?"

It's not like he doesn't remember Joe's scathing words a week ago, word for word, and it's not like he hasn't heard them on a wretched loop in his head ever since. It's more like he needs to hear them again to make sure they're real, to make sure he hadn't made all of that up in a pointless frenzy of hope. 

Joe sighs annoyedly, but thankfully, answers anyway. "I'm mad at you because you thought it was okay to fucking play with my emotions like that. I didn't know any better at first, obviously, but - fucking hell, Patrick, I love you, okay? And to wake up to memories rushing back and realizing that you'd spent weeks _lying_ to me about that - it hurt. And, what, out of pity? To make me feel better? That's a fucking asshole move."

Patrick clings to the words "I love you" and ignores everything else as he nods emphatically and says, "Yeah, yeah, okay, understandable, but the thing is, like...I'm totally in love with you."

Joe is silent, and for a moment Patrick is scared he's simply going to close the door again and leave Patrick out her alone, but he doesn't. Instead, he responds darkly, "I told you I don't want pity, Patrick."

"No, uh, that's not pity," Patrick says, wincing a little as his nerves become obvious in his tone, but forcing himself on anyways. "I'm serious. Like, actually."

There's a brief moment of silence, and Patrick lets out a sigh of relief when the door pushes open another inch. 

"You're really serious?" Joe asks, his voice a fraction louder, and tinged with hope. 

Patrick finds a tentative grin spreading across his face. "I'm totally serious. Why would I have lied about being your boyfriend if I didn't just...actually want to be your boyfriend?"

The door opens the rest of the way, revealing Joe standing in it, looking equal parts skeptical and optimistic. "You're... actually, legitimately serious?"

"Yeah," Patrick answers, nodding to emphasize it, because he really, really is. 

Joe remains silent, simply staring, and Patrick realizes there's only one way to prove he's telling the truth. 

He pulls Joe across the threshold of the house and kisses him. 

Joe tenses up at first, then relaxes into Patrick's arms, kissing back. Patrick beams into the kiss. He's won. He's done it. 

Joe is the first to pull back, staring at Patrick, awestruck, like he can't believe this is happening. And hell, Patrick can't either. "You...really weren't kidding."

"I wasn't," Patrick says. "I really did lie to you because I wanted it to be true."

Joe breaks into a sudden grin, laughing as he does. "Then - then maybe we should make it true."

Patrick grins back, relief flooding him, filling every bone in his body with a fluttery feeling that he can't shake. "Maybe we should."

Joe yanks Patrick in for another kiss, and Patrick is pretty certain that the fib next to Joe's hospital bed was the best lie he's ever told.

**Author's Note:**

> As always - hmu with ideas/prompts/headcanons/whatever at my Tumblr - vicesandvelociraptors :)
> 
> And remember if you liked it, comment! Comments are what keep me writing lol. Pleeeease 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
